


Playing Pretend

by sansapotter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pretend Verse, Pretending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-02-08 16:39:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1948449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansapotter/pseuds/sansapotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can pretend if you need to,” Jon felt her breath ghost across the shell of his ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Experiments in angst" anon prompted: Don't you listen to them- Don't you ever listen to them,"  
> part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This 'verse has kind of taken on a life of its own, so it has its own file.

“You can pretend if you need to,” Jon felt her breath ghost across the shell of his ear. What is there to pretend? He wanted to ask, instead he took her mouth with his. She returned his kiss as though she was reciting a list; turning her head, sliding her tongue along his, retreating, repeating. He’d never imagined his marriage bed would be like this, when he let himself imagine it.

He was sure that he wasn’t Sansa’s ideal husband. A second son, a bastard, raised as her brother, the list could continue. He wished he could offer her more than the Gift, more of anything other than the wreckage that remained. Still, the reality was harsher than he imagined when he’d agreed to the wedding.

Sansa undid the laces of his tunic methodically, “tell me about her.” She said in the same soft voice. Her hands went to his breeches with purpose. He was hard before she touched him.

“Who are you talking about?” He wrapped his hand around her wrist, stilling her motions. With the other hand he cradled the back of her head in his hand, bringing his mouth back to hers.

“The girl you were in love with,” and all motion stilled. There was hardly space between them, she’d just barely pulled away to elaborate. “She had red hair like me. It’s why you said yes isn’t it?” She wasn’t accusing him, she wasn’t sad either. It was the strangest conversation he’d ever had before bedding a woman. “I don’t mean to pry; I just thought if you were to tell me about her it would make things better.” Better for him, she meant.

He jerked away from her, like she scalded him. You can pretend if you need to, it made sense then. “Who told you?” He hadn’t married her for her red hair; he’d married her so she could be herself.

“Men pretend all the time Jon, there’s no shame in it.” She tried to move closer, but he shook his head.

“Who told you Sansa,”

“Everyone,” she said in that gentle voice. “Everyone says you fell in love with a wildling with hair like mine. I bet she was brave, and fierce,” she finished wistfully. Not like me, he didn’t need to hear her say it. The thought was written across her face.

“She was, she’s dead now.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and for the first time that night Jon believed her. He couldn’t meet her eyes, not with her bare before him, talking about Ygritte.

“It’s done, it happened a long time ago.”

“All your men say you prefer warriors.” She continued. “I want to be a good wife to you, and I fear I won’t be. If you need to think of someone else I won’t be upset.” Men pretend all the time, he wondered who taught her that. Instead of asking he drew her into his arms.

“Don’t listen to them,” he said into her hair. “Don’t you ever listen to them,” he told her. Whether he spoke of the men in her past, or the men on his land wasn’t clear. He couldn’t be sure if she took his words to heart. He didn’t pretend with her, and someday he would tell her why he married her, of all the prospects he had. He remembered a girl who wanted to please people, who had a place in the world and only dreamed bigger. Some day he hoped she would forgive him. For though he did not pretend; he’d taken away her chance at something greater than the barren lands of the Gift when he married her. She deserved a song, and someday he hoped he’d be worthy of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompted: a continuation of the Jon/Sansa "don't you listen to them" fic. It was just too good!

She was quite suspicious of her third husband. What sort of man married a widow without her maidenhead? What’s more, what sort of man asked his wifes permission before he bedded her? It was her duty to say yes. She told him so once, and he avoided her for a fortnight.

Since then she just agreed. She wished he wouldn’t feel guilty when he took her. Men were always pretending she was someone else, if he was honest she was sure it would be more enjoyable for him. She had been listening to the wild- free folk talk around the gift. If he would tell who he was thinking of she was sure she could mimic the dialect.

After that misunderstanding, where she called the bedding her duty, she had been properly able to convince her husband that she wanted him in her bed. He was a far better lover than Harry, or Petyr had been. He always tried to please her, most of the time she didn’t have to pretend.

Twice weekly he came to her, taking her on her back, or astride him. Never from behind. It was curious, she wondered how much that woman looked like her that he could imagine. What was more curious was the moment he peaked, and she heard her name on his tongue.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: oh my goodness the jon/sansa pretending story is so beautiful, but it is breaking my heart! I know it is supposed to be angsty, but can there be a little happy moment or happy ending??

“What did you mean by that?” her back was to him as it always was when he was in her bed. Usually he was as quiet as she was, never wanting to impose. She already considered the bedding a chore more than anything else.

“Mean by what?” though he knew the answer. She had been so lovely beneath him, her hands weren’t clutched in the bedsheets. He’d gotten lost in the moment.

“Saying my name,” Jon had never known this would be a possibility. She sounded so timid, much more her age than he’d ever heard. “I’ve already told you, you don’t have to act as though I’m your first choice. You don’t owe me anything.” His heart clenched like a fist; a part of him wanted to eliminate the distance between them, stroke her hair, gather her in his arms, anything.

“And if I’m not pretending?” The question had been on his tongue from the moment she said the words. “If I want you?”

“Why?” It wasn’t a coyly delivered phrase, like a girl who knew her qualities. She genuinely couldn’t imagine why he would want her. He remembered the Sansa he knew before, the girl who knew herself to be worthy of a prince. Now, here, she couldn’t fathom why he, a man baseborn regardless of his parentage, would want her. “You don’t owe me a kindness.”

He’d thought of her while he was on the Wall, fondly, only fondly. He hoped she would be ok, that she was alive. When Stannis brought her from the Vale he felt a relief so strong he thought he would float to the sky. If he hadn’t married her then Stannis would have sent her away. He had appointed a castellan to Rickon already, the rightful heir. He could have sent Sansa away, back to the south where she would likely meet her demise. Never to see her family, Winterfell again.

“I wanted you to be free,” he started. “I want you to live out your days in the North, where you belong. I remember the girl you once were, who laughed so high and clear, and I thought if you were here it would help you remember too.”

“What if I can’t be her anymore?” Sansa asked, she turned on her side. “I can’t pretend to be like that.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me Sansa.” He said, catching her eyes. “I just want you to be yourself.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: Hmm ok I feel like I am bad at coming up with prompts, I am easy to please I just really want Jon/Sansa to be happy haha! How about 20) Something from the Pretending verse including the quote: “No matter what has happened. No matter what you’ve done. No matter what you will do. I will always love you. I swear it.” (You decide the context/who says it!)

When she was found in the Vale the Onion Knight suggested returning her to the North. Jon owed him everything for that. He’d told Jon when they found her she was calm, she answered the King’s questions while holding his eye. Stannis didn’t scare her, his justice didn’t cause her to bat an eye.  
Her eyes were red rimmed when she slipped into his room, wild, panicked. “Please don’t let him take me away,” her soft voice muffled in his shirt. He could feel the thrumming of her pulse. She heard his meeting with Stannis, not that she had to say so.

"It’s my fault," Jon said smoothing her hair. She’d never come to him for comfort, he didn’t know what else to do. "It’s my fault. You shouldn’t be put through this."

"I haven’t given you a son." She had hardly grown accustomed to him, hardly let herself out of a carefully constructed fortress. It wouldn’t be fair to her to get a child on her before she understood who she was, before she could trust anyone’s love. "He should have left me at the Vale, taken my head like he took Petyr’s."

Jon knew about that too. Sometimes she dreamt about it, but Ser Davos was the one to tell him about it. He turned her chin up, catching her blue eyes, “if he took your head I would be alone.”

"You would have a whole wife," she countered. He wondered what it would take to make her see that she was complete, enough, plenty, for him. "Likely you would have a son by now, if you weren’t married to a woman with as many sins as I."

"When the gods want us to have a son we will have one, or a daughter. It matters not."

"The King will have you set me aside if I do not produce an heir. I heard him." She pressed her face back into his bicep. "I’ve done too much to be a good wife to you. He’ll find someone who you will be happy with."

"I am happy with you." He said firmly, for that was the only way she would believe him. "No matter what has happened. No matter what you’ve done. No matter what you will do. I will always love you. I swear it."

"Oh Jon," she sighed disbelievingly.

"Do you remember what I told you?"

"That we don’t have to pretend."

"I will tell you every day, for as long as I live how much you mean to me. Until you believe it. No one will take you from here unless you will it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Pretend 'Verse has grown a bit, but I've decided it's an "as prompted" sort of deal. I have at least one more for it, but if you'd like to see something I'm over [here](http://www.sansa-potter.tumblr.com)


	5. Strikhedonia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capernoited - Slightly intoxicated or tipsy.
> 
> Strikhedonia- The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”

“You look very pretty this evening my lady,” it was unlike her husband to pay her such compliments, especially out of her chambers. Certainly not since she told him he didn’t need to say such things to her. We are already married my lord, husbands do not compliment their wives.

Now, more often than not he stopped himself. Pretty words are for liars, she reminded herself. Sansa was not a liar, not anymore. Jon looked properly embarrassed at his loosened tongue and stared intently at his goblet. An unexpected wave of shame came upon her, and not for the first time she wished he would have let Stannis do away with her so he could have a proper wife. 

She ran her finger around the edge of her own goblet, shaking her head when Jon’s squire attempted to fill it. Jon seemed infinitely warm beside her, the wine had him smiling at everyone around him, he used to smile for her. Now she only had his sad grey eyes. 

Perhaps there was a part of her that wanted more, but there was a greater part who knew better. She used to dream of falling in love, sometimes she suspected Jon wanted the same. When his thumb would trace across her hairline, or when he pulled her to his chest after they coupled, sometimes she thought he would even say the words. Perhaps he didn’t think she would believe him. Would she believe him?

She missed his easy smile directed at her, without the wine, in the privacy of his chambers. His words, for though they were sweet Jon could not weave a pretty song if he tried. He was no liar. So yes. She could believe him if he were to say those words.

He was looking at her. Trying to be discreet, but the wine was making him stare at her with darkened eyes. Not threatening, she knew that look well. This was different, a look she had never seen on his face before, that if anything caused an unexpected burst of heat in her belly. She wanted to chase it, because Jon wouldn’t hurt her. He would be patient in waiting for her love. So instead of keeping her eyes focused on the distant point in the hall she reached across the table to take his hand in hers.


	6. As told by Val

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: Oh man you are going to be sorry you made that offer, now I will have to request it every time you post a prompt list :) I think I love it so much because it feels very honest and sincere (which is kind of ironic since it's called Pretending ha!) If you get the feels to write any more of it I think it would be really interesting to see them interact with a 3rdperson like one of the Bs Stannis wants Jon to marry (ha yeah right Stannis!) or maybe a 3rd person perspective on their relationship. <3

She had always thought Jon Snow to be a pretty man, more fair than some of the women she had known in her time. She had also thought him to be sullen. As any man committed more to honor than to life would be. When he married she thought perhaps it would make him lighter. At first it hadn’t.

If Jon Snow was pretty his wife was radiant. Where he was sullen his wife seemed despondent. Val liked to look upon her on her visits, to find the cracks in her armor. Kissed by fire, eyes like robin’s eggs, slender but strong. She didn’t take well to most company, maybe that was why Val found herself so intrigued. 

Val sat with Sansa Snow in the mornings, watching her nimble fingers mend holes in her husband’s tunics and breeches. Her stitches were so fine Val hardly noticed the tear at all, so fine that Val took note of the stitch in the first place. She did not say much. more quiet than any free woman Val knew. Her fingers skirted over the fabric before folding it tenderly and placing it in the basket. In that moment Val knew that the quiet kneeler was contented in her marriage.

Jon was still concerned, though he wouldn’t mention why. “Why would she think me unhappy?”

“Because your wife cares for you,” Val shrugged as they walked through the training yard. “Have you talked to her about it?”

“I don’t want to impose upon her. She was forced into this marriage, she’ll be forced into bearing my children. I wouldn’t want to cause her anymore distress.”

“Talk to your wife Jon Snow, I think you’ll find her more willing than you expect.”


	7. A piece of me

“I’m leaving at dawn,” Jon said from beside her, as though she could forget. His fingers traced along her arm. It made her ache in the worst way knowing he was riding out for more than a moons turn, naming the maester castellan in his absence. Though she could have run his castle when he took his leave he insisted he wouldn’t add to the pressure she felt. 

“I have not forgotten my lo-“ she hesitated, “Jon.” She corrected herself softly. He implored her to use his name, he hummed contentedly. Pleased she was trying. “How long do you expect you’ll be gone?”

“Two moons, maybe longer. It depends on how much assistance they require at Karhold.” His touch was so easy, yet his words were still guarded. And though in her heart she would long for him she doubted she would ever be able to say the words aloud. Even though it pained her to see him go, created an ache in her chest she thought had healed she would send him off as a lady does her lord. 

Sometimes she felt like pieces of her were scattered across Westeros; a piece in Winterfell, at Castle Darry, in Kings Landing, even in the Vale. Jon pieced her back together when he took her in, when he refused to send her away in spite of everyone’s better judgement (including her own). She slid from under the furs, making for her sewing basket. 

Jon waited quietly, perhaps he suspected she was leaving. It wouldn’t be unheard of, he’d probably come to expect it from her. He wanted more though, she knew he did, guarded or not. She gripped the cloth in her hands anxiously. “Here,” she said pressing the token into his palm. 

Jon fell silent, staring at his open palm before closing it tight around the careful stitching. “Sansa,” 

It was the first gift she had given to him. The first indication of the words she could not bring herself to say. “So you can take a piece of me with you.”


	8. returning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was written for the lovely justadram's impromptu fic baby shower, so yep things get happier, because I know she wanted them to be happy :)

Two moons turned to three and each day Jon grew more anxious to return home. He wanted to return to his wife, had wanted to turn his horse at the gate, tell let Karhold figure out their own problems. Sansa hadn’t said the words, but he knew that in presenting a favor to him she was telling him what he needed to hear. She would miss him.

So when two moons turned to three his men began to sense his agitation, but were she with him Sansa would encourage him to do his duty first. He could feel the finely embroidered kerchief against his heart. That she had made a favor for him in the first place gave him hope that the change in their marriage would bring them closer.

He tried not to appear disappointed when she was not waiting at the gates for his arrival. Sam waited for him in her place.

The chance that she would meet him was slim, he knew that. Still the disappointment filled his chest, glad as he was to see Sam, he wished for Sansa. “My lord,” he followed after Jon. He started by telling him of the stock that remained, followed by the happenings among the residents. By the time they crossed the threshold of the keep and Sam started to speak of news from the Citadel that Jon realized he was trying to divert his attention.

She’d been ill, it was why she hadn’t come to greet him. The maester confessed as much when he was pressed. Disappointment gave way to guilt, guilt gave way to concern. “I should warn you my lord…”

“How bad is it?” Jon cut him off as they rounded a corner, drawing closer to Sansa’s chambers. 

“It will take some time for her to recover.”

Guilt again. He should have been here, his place was beside her. She had fallen ill surrounded by strangers. He knocked on the heavy door between them, bracing himself for the worst when she bade him enter. 

He was startled to find she didn’t look ill at all. In fact, she looked content. It was a rare look from this new Sansa, one he sorely missed when her eyes fell to her lap along with her hands. “My lord.”

“Sansa,” he breathed moving forward. “Sam said you were indisposed.”

“I suppose I am,” she answered quietly. Testing the waters, he was familiar with the tone she took, more out of habit then true concern. “I feel fine at the moment.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you,” she inclined her head inviting him to sit beside her. 

“You were doing what was asked of you by the King. I cannot fault you for that.” She twisted her fingers. Of course she couldn’t, appeasing King Stannis was the reason they’d married. 

“Sam said you were still recovering.” Jon pressed trying to draw her stare.

“I will be for some time.” She confirmed, he watched her knuckles clench. “I’m with child.”

Her confession sparked thoughts that came so fast he hardly had time to react to one before realizing another. He was going to be a father, she a mother. His heart thundered in response, but he could find no words to express his elation. 

“Does that please you my lor-Jon?” He had been gaping like a fish, she could not know how happy she had just made him. 

“Sansa,” he took her hands in his, pressing his forehead against hers; everything was finally falling into place.


	9. epilogue

Sansa took to pregnancy, and Jon hoped that in taking to pregnancy she would take to him as well. Still as the months passed she seemed just as reserved as before. It didn’t stop him from trying, past her reservations he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, she cared for him just as much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like this little series finally reached its end. thank you all so much for reading, if you've been waiting to see it here thanks for being patient with me slow posting! I'm writing things still and on [tumblr](http://www.sansa-potter.tumblr.com)


End file.
